Almost Forgotten

I started writing to save my life.  Even today, but most especially in the earliest days of my recovery the act of writing helped me maintain perspective and focus.  I wrote in a medium that was publicly accessible because I was so profoundly alone. The feedback I got really encouraged me and helped motivate me.

All I’d ever really been was fucked up, and somehow in the act of writing about trying to recover from that I attracted the attention of Christopher Kennedy Lawford, who asked if I would agree to be interviewed for a book about the moment that led me to recovery; the moment I wrote about a couple of weeks ago.  I remember at the time being so flattered that I almost didn’t grant the interview. Seriously, if your fucked-upness has attracted the attention of a member of the Kennedy clan, you’ve reached your zenith.

Chris’s collaberator, Jan Werner, sent over a list of the questions I’d be asked in the interview. “I hope you’ll seriously consider participating in this project. You’re so open and clear about your inner exploration and ongoing struggles. Your voice would definitely extend the reach of the book, and add to the chorus of hope and humor,” she wrote.

I am a person driven largely by fear and pretension; both  of which I struggle to keep in check.  They are both manifestations of my disease, not my recovery.  So when I read Jan’s email I was incredibly flattered.  It had never occurred to me that my little rantings might attract attention from anyone but tweekers.  Attention from anywhere, but most especially from those who have the ability to take the message of recovery to a wider audience, appealed directly to the most  vain streak in me.  The fact that I had an emotional response like that made me question whether or not I could actually contribute anything worthwhile.

I took some time, over night, talked to my ‘spiritual adviser’, prayed, talked to my roommate, considered all the reasons I might accept or decline the invitation.  In my reply I wrote, “If you feel I have the kind of voice which will ‘add to the chorus’ then I should be honored and grateful to have the opportunity to join you.  I’m not pretending to be a conductor anymore, so when Maestro says “sing”, I’ll sing.”

That was in September of 2007.  I had been sober all of seven months.  Because of that, and because it was me, I discounted the project greatly.  I never actually expected to see the book in print, and if I did, I hadn’t expected to make the cut.  I was, after all, in very early recovery.  What could I possibly have to contribute?

Well, I received an email yesterday letting me know that the book was out, though when I called Barnes & Noble it hadn’t been put out on the shelves yet.  I ran out today and bought two copies.  Moments of Clarity is is a breathtaking collection of 44 personal stories of the transformative experience that lead each of these people to recovery.  The fact that the subjects in this book are so heavily weighted to public figures makes it is even more astonishing to me that my story has been retained.

I took one of the copies over to my mom’s house tonight.  She was so drunk she couldn’t read the title.  Maybe she’ll have a moment of clarity tomorrow when she can see straight.  But like I said in my interview, “Everybody comes to it in their own time, and that time may be never.  All we can do is wait and hope for them to get there.”

Thank you Chris and Jan.  I am really grateful to have been able to participate and I’m really grateful that I’m sober today to see it.